


blind (to let you go)

by exarite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Blind Date, Exes, Getting Back Together, M/M, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 14:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17768474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/exarite/pseuds/exarite
Summary: Draco sets Harry Potter up on a blind date.It works out, more or less.::"I forgot you weren't there to see the aftermath of Harry and You Know Who.”"Who?" Draco asked in interest, and Hermione and Ron shared a look."You Know Who," Ron repeated in a loud whisper. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.""Otherwise known as Harry's ex," Hermione said dryly. "So don't bother."





	blind (to let you go)

**Author's Note:**

> it's technically valentine's for me here already so! happy vday!
> 
> semi-inspired by RenderedReversed's [Want You Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6882547)

"You want to set Harry up with someone this Valentines?" Hermione asked in disbelief. Draco blew across his cup of tea and took a sip before answering.

"Yes," he said. "Aside from him, we're all coupled up. We're 25 now, it's high time for him to start considering options for the future."

Hermione and Ron shared a look, rolling their eyes once more at Draco's Pureblood Sensibilities. Honestly, Ron didn't have much room to judge. He clearly on some level agreed that it was perfectly reasonable to want to get married and continue the line by 26 at the latest. The Weasleys certainly didn't control themselves.

"Plus, he's been a chore to work with recently, and I figured why not?"

"Mate, I can think of plenty of reasons why not," Ron said in amusement, shaking his head. Draco raised an eyebrow at that and gingerly placed his cup back onto its saucer.

"Elaborate."

"Oh," Ron said in surprise, straightening up, a light of understanding brightening up his eyes. "I forgot you weren't there to see the aftermath of Harry and You Know Who.” He leaned in and raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Draco. Hermione sighed.

"Don't," she warned, but Draco ignored her, copying Ron by leaning in as well, his elbows on his knees.

"Who?" he asked in interest, and Hermione and Ron shared a look.

"You Know Who," Ron repeated in a loud whisper. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"Otherwise known as Harry's ex," Hermione said dryly. "So don't bother. Harry's not interested in anything resembling a relationship right now, possibly not for another 5 years."

"It's a _date_ ," Draco replied, tone haughty. "Maybe if he gets fucked, the stick will come out of his ass."

"Maybe you should ask Astoria to peg _you_ then," Ron shot back, and Hermione snorted, covering her mouth to muffle her laughter. Ron grinned and held out his hand. Hermione discreetly high-fived him.

Draco scowled at them.

"I'm telling you, this guy is perfect for Harry. Exactly his type."

"And who, pray tell, is this mystery guy?" Hermione asked, amused. Ron reached out and took a biscuit off her plate, popping it into his mouth and chewing loudly. Draco ignored his poor table manners. Astoria said he must if he wanted to keep his new friends.

"Well, I'm not telling the two of you now," Draco said haughtily. "Not after how rude you've been to me. All I'm telling you is that he's a friend of sorts—I think, at least—of my father."

"Ah, older," Hermione said knowingly. The three of them shared a smirk.

"You know what," Ron mused through his mouth of food. Draco grimaced. "This sounds like a bad idea, but I wanna see what happens."

"Trust me," Draco replied. "I am confident that this will turn out perfectly fine."

 

*

 

"You're a miserable bastard and I'm setting you up with someone this Valentine's."

Harry stopped writing mid-word, the ink of his quill quickly bleeding through on his latest report. Draco waited, silent as Harry looked up at him and then squinted.

"Wow," he said. "I'm not sure which part of that I should react to first."

"I won't take no for an answer," Draco replied primly, fixing his robes before he dropped his ass on Harry's table. Harry eyed him, frowning.

"I'm not interested. I'm perfectly happy single," he finally said, curt. "So thanks, but no thanks."

"He's hot," Draco assured. Harry rolled his eyes and told himself that didn't perk up his interest. Draco paused, and then added meaningfully, "Bit of an asshole, so. Exactly your type."

"For the last time, Draco," Harry groaned. "I _don't_ want a threesome with you and your wife."

"What? No!" Draco snapped, sounding a little bit insulted, and Harry snickered, hiding it behind his hand. Malfoy had invited him, quote-unquote _to share his marriage bed_ , and Harry would never, ever, let him live that down. "He's older because I know you're into that and you have daddy issues."

Harry's eyebrows rose all the way up to his hairline. He coughed. "Ah yes, between you and me," he said. " _I'm_ the one with daddy issues."

"Anyway," Draco said loudly, interrupting. He sniffed disdainfully down at Harry. "You owe me for last week, so it's just as well that you repay me with this."

Harry narrowed his eyes. He adjusted his glasses and leaned in. "So if I go on this date, we're even?"

"Until the next time I save your ass, yes."

Harry leaned back into his chair and brought his quill up to his mouth, the tip of it staining his palm with ink. He hummed and tapped the feather part of it on his lips, gazing thoughtfully up at the ceiling. Just as Draco seemed to be about to stand up in frustration, Harry's shoulders dropped and he sighed, long and drawn out.

"Fine," he said petulantly, pushing his chair back and tossing his quill back onto his desk. Draco's eyebrow twitched. Harry laced his fingers over his stomach and gave him a serious look. "I'll go on this stupid date, as long as whoever it is will pay."

"You're not going to ask who I'm setting you up with?"

Harry flashed a mischievous smirk up at him and shrugged. "Don't care. I'm only doing this so you get off my ass and for the free food."

"No need to be so plebeian, Potter. People might think you're actually poor instead of, you know, just as rich as me." Draco paused, and then amended,  "Almost as rich as me."

"They better not." Harry gasped, his eyes widening and his tone high with a faux scandalized tone. Draco glared at him, and Harry grinned. It was so much more fun to antagonize Draco when Harry was 80% sure he wasn't going to get hexed in response.

"How ungrateful. I'll send you an owl with the details. Don't forget that Valentine's is this Thursday."

"Is it? I don't keep track."

"Liar," Draco said bluntly. "I know about You Know Who."

"Alright," Harry said, his face immediately closing off. His good humor was gone, just as quick as it had come. "This conversation is over. We've been nice to each other for long enough today and I've reached my limit."

"How long has it been, Potter?" Draco continued, undeterred. "Granger mentioned you broke up on Valentine's Day."

Harry huffed and looked away. He scooted his chair back closer to his table and started writing again, studiously ignoring the inkblot in the middle of his paper. He was sure that Draco would get tired of waiting, eventually, but Draco stayed on his desk, suspiciously patient.

He sighed.

"5 years. It's been 5 years since we broke up," he muttered, and Draco's eyes lit up in victory. He opened his mouth to no doubt prod at the clearly still sensitive wound, but at Harry’s warning glare he backed off, hands held out non-threateningly.

He didn’t stay for long, after that, and Harry was once again left alone to brood.

 

*

 

With what was probably good karma, the opportunity to get more information about Harry's elusive ex-boyfriend presented itself to Draco the next day. He told himself it must be Mother Magic herself rewarding him for his good deed of the month. He didn't really have a reason to push and prod, but it was always good to have more ammunition against Potter. It was always good to be prepared, after all. His father had said so.

The Department of Law Enforcement had finally wrapped up their latest case, and celebrations were in order. Now while Draco didn’t work for the Aurors, didn’t really work at all really, this specific case had been one they consulted him on. It was easy enough for Draco to invite himself and take advantage of the maudlin drunk Harry was guaranteed to become.

His patience was rewarded when 5 drinks in, Harry was back to the moody lump he’d been the past week.

"Why have you never mentioned him?" Draco asked once the others had already left. It was just Draco and Harry now, and the curiosity in Draco burned. He still didn't know the name of Harry's ex, but he didn't need to say it for Harry to know who they were talking about.

"I don't like talking about Him," Harry said lowly, eyes half-lidded. He ran a finger down the rim of an empty shot-glass, a lost expression on his face. "I don't want to even _think_ about Him."

Draco tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Who is this, even?"

"Oh no," Harry said, shaking his head. "We're not close enough for me to tell you his name _._ You need more friendship points to unlock _that_ conversation."

"…friendship points…" Draco muttered to himself.

"All I can say is," Harry continued, tone bitter and smile cutting, “he's in the Ministry now, exactly where he wanted to be 5 years ago, and slowly working his way up. It’s probably _easier_ for him now without his dirty little secret."

"Is that why you broke up then?" Draco drawled, relaxing back into the seat behind him. He slung a loose arm over the top, legs languid, allowing himself this concession from the alcohol that had managed to hit him.

“Well,” Harry said awkwardly. He grimaced and shrugged, scratching the back of his head as he stretched and shifted in his seat. Draco understood the feeling. Despite the year or so of working with Harry, it didn’t come close enough to instantly make up for their years of animosity in Hogwarts. Even now, there were some days when Harry and he were barely civil to each other. Sharing their feelings was leagues away from that.

“I was 18, fresh out of Hogwarts. He was 31.”

Draco whistled lowly. “Impressive. I don’t know why I’m shocked.”

“Yeah. We lasted two years, which looking back, is two years too long," Harry said, just a little snidely. "It had a lot to do with how young and immature I was, and it didn't help that he was so…"

Draco raised an eyebrow as Harry trailed off, at a lost for words.

Harry wrinkled his nose and shrugged, pushing the empty shot glass he was fiddling with away. "He was a deceitful, manipulative, controlling prick. I don't like being told what to do, I don't like being lied to, and I definitely don't like being manipulated." He raised his hands in an exaggerated shrug, lips pulling downwards. "It chafed. It got too much, after a while, the secrecy, and he was too much of a Snake for my sensibilities."

"Ouch," Draco said blandly, and Harry grinned. Draco frowned and almost carelessly, he asked, "Surely it wasn't that bad?"

Harry blinked at that and looked away. He licked his lips, gaze far off. When he finally spoke, he did so slowly, tentatively. "It wasn't. He took very good care of me. He takes very good care of his things, in general."

"I'm not sure I want to talk about your sex life," Draco said, wrinkling his nose, and Harry's eyes widened.

"No!" Harry protested. "It wasn't always sexual. I mean, he made sure I had everything I ever wanted. He was controlling, yes, but he's the one who processed and streamlined my Auror application, my Defense mastery. He paid for everything, kept me fed, all that crap."

"And you really think you don't have daddy issues," Draco said. "That sounds an awful lot like a sugar daddy." Even as he spoke, his mind raced through rich, possibly closeted wizards he knew in the Ministry, Slytherins who would fit the profile of Harry's Ex that was currently coming to life.

"Fuck off," Harry grunted. "But I liked feeling wanted. I liked feeling taken care of. It was great when it was good, but when it was bad…" He mimed a Bombarda spell with his hands and looked up at the ceiling, defeated. Draco watched him with a mild sort of amusement and pity.

"But you're right," Harry continued, melancholic now. "It wasn't that bad."

"Are you looking forward to tomorrow then?" Draco couldn't help but ask and Harry shrugged.

"Can't possibly be worse than You Know Who."

 

*

 

“Did Malfoy mention who you’re meeting with later?” Hermione asked, fussing over his collar. Harry allowed her, tilting his head upwards as he inwardly sighed. He had passed by Hermione and Ron’s apartment only with the intention of taking the red tie Draco had specified since Harry had left it here last time. That was supposed to be it, but Hermione had deemed him unsuitable. You could be way hotter than that, Harry, she had said, and Harry had acquiesced to her thinly veiled threats.

Now, all three of them were dressed up and fixed for the night, but Hermione and Ron would be having their own, separate date.

“No,” he said patiently. “Why? Did he tell you?”

“Oh no, we pissed him off a little, you know how it is. He mentioned it was a friend of his father though,” Hermione said. She pulled on his hair with a sigh, long ago having deemed it a lost cause and stepped back.

Harry’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “When I said I liked older men, I didn’t quite mean old enough to be my father,” he muttered. He tried to imagine which exactly of Lucius Malfoy’s friends Draco had set him up with and grimaced. “That explains the restaurant though. I was surprised. It’s pretty high class even for Malfoy.”

“You’re going to that fancy restaurant downtown, right?” Ron asked, smiling. At Harry’s nod, his smile widened into a grin. “Nice one, that already makes any company worth it.”

“As long as it’s not a serial killer,” Harry shrugged, grinning. “What's the worst that could happen?"

 

*

 

Harry fidgeted in his seat, eyes roaming over the crowded restaurant. It was packed full, tens of couples surrounding Harry, yet the charms surrounding each table still managed to invoke a sense of privacy, perfect for a couple on a Valentine’s date. The tables were lit only by soft candlelight, the soft strains of a violin worming its way underneath Harry's skin, and it was the just the sort of intimacy that Harry was uncomfortable with for a first date. He was starting to wonder why he had let Draco talk him into this.

He took another sip of his water and glanced at his watch. His blind date had yet to come, already ten minutes late, and Harry hadn't decided yet if he was pleased about that or not. Mainly because he was already here and he had hyped himself up for a delicious free dinner, but the thought of not having to sit through a stilted, awkward conversation with someone who might be a total stranger was starting to sound better and better.

Hard choice, really.

Harry pressed the rim of his glass to his lips and closed his eyes.

"Harry?"

Harry's eyes snapped open at the familiar voice, dread instantly washing over him. He stared up in horror, and—

Tom fucking Riddle stared back at him.

Harry took him in, mouth agape, his eyes catching on the dark red tie Tom was wearing, dark enough to almost match his burgundy eyes, down to his coordinated outfit, one that befitted the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. He swallowed, mouth dry, and asked, his voice shaking, "You're my blind date?"

Tom's eyes flicked up and down, casually taking Harry in. Harry tensed, his gut churning with the beginnings of anger, or lust, he didn't quite know. It was always crossed when it came to Tom.

"I suppose I could be," Tom said smoothly. With an ease Harry was always appreciative and envious of, he seated himself in the chair in front of Harry, his expression placid. "I must say, I didn't expect you."

"Disappointed?" Harry asked bitingly, unable to help it. Tom didn't rise to the bait, only tilted his head and smiled, slow and languid.

"To see you? Never."

Harry flushed at that, ducking his head to avoid Tom's heavy gaze. He licked his chapped lips, stalling, unsure and off-footed. It wasn’t the first time they've seen each other since their explosive break-up 5 years ago, on this very day in fact, but it _was_ the first time they’ve been alone since then and had to talk.

“I didn’t think you were the type to go on blind dates.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know why you’re here either,” Harry snapped. “I’m sure you have no problem getting dates.”

He paused. No. Wait. That was supposed to be insulting. It was so far off its mark that Tom smirked, clearly pleased with himself. Harry thrummed with the urge to—what? Punch him? Snog him?

“Shut up,” he demanded, and Tom’s smirk widened.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it, unwilling to make a fool of himself a second, a third, a hundredth time around Tom Riddle. Tom’s eyes softened marginally around the edges, just the barest hints of lingering affection. It was enough to make Harry shy away, his eyes dropping back down to the table.

It was already more than anything Tom had ever given him in public before.

“If you want, I can leave,” Tom said, breaking the silence between them. Harry looked up in surprise, his eyes wide. Tom’s face was twisted into an expression of sincere concern, but Harry knew better than to fall for it. “If you’re uncomfortable with seeing me again.”

“Would you, actually?” Harry challenged, his jaw tight, and Tom’s eyes flashed. “Or are you just saying that to give me the illusion of choice?”

“Still so defensive,” Tom murmured. He tilted his head, considering, and then made a movement as if to stand up. Harry moved without thinking, his hand flying out to grip Tom’s and keep him where he was. They stared at each other, and Harry let go as if he was burned, his lips parted.

“Stay.” The word came out without his permission, called from the parts of him that were still raw and hurt, even 5 years later, but Harry meant it. He meant it with a desperation that shamed him. “Please.”

“Of course,” Tom said. He had always liked to hear Harry say please. “Would you like to order?”

Harry nodded. While Tom flagged down a waiter, Harry took the chance to discreetly observe him. He was still so damn handsome and it was _infuriating_. Harry hated him for it, even as his eyes traced over the line of his jaw, sharp and dangerous, to the way Tom’s hair fell, perfectly styled. Harry couldn’t help but admire the fit of his clothes and the honey butter smoothness of his voice as he talked to the waiter. Tom Riddle was pushing 40, and he still looked exactly as he did 5 years ago, bar a few new wrinkles here and there, and…

Harry was…

“Harry?” Tom asked. “What will you have?”

Harry blinked, his eyes darting from Tom to the menu in front of him. All the time he had spent waiting, and of course, Harry hadn’t bothered to go through the menu. He skimmed through the page, realizing in embarrassment that it was in French and he couldn’t understand a damn thing. He wondered if it was a faux pas to whip out his wand and cast a translation spell.

Without prodding, the words in front of him changed to English, Tom’s familiar magic running through it, and Harry’s eyes flew up. Tom’s expression didn’t change. It was as kind as Tom could ever be. Before, he would have just simply ordered for Harry instead. Harry wouldn't have even needed to touch the menu. 

Harry quickly rattled off the first dish he found even semi-palatable. Tom’s lips quirked upwards and Harry glared. His glare didn’t let up even when Tom ordered a bottle of wine, eyes taunting Harry.

“Not ashamed to be seen with me now?” Harry said snidely, and Tom frowned at him, disapproving.

“You know I never was,” he scolded and Harry’s eyes narrowed.

“No, actually. No, I don’t.” He leaned away, hands smoothing over the table cloth as he sneered. “Not after last Valentine’s, when you fucking went out to dinner with—”

“Are you still not over that?” Tom asked, cutting. His placid, charming expression was gone, and the look of annoyance on his face was more familiar. Exactly what Harry wanted. An unwelcome heat burned in the pit of his stomach, a Pavlovian response to Tom’s anger that Harry thought he had excised. “It was a dinner. I wasn’t cheating on you.”

“Merlin,” Harry said in disbelief, and furiously rubbed at his mouth. “It was Valentine’s! I don’t care if it was part of your ten-step plan to become Minister, it still bloody hurts to see your boyfriend out charming some pureblood witch instead of with you!”

He was practically yelling now, he realized, and he cut himself off, sinking back into his seat. No one even turned to look at them, the privacy charms upholding even against Harry’s agitation. His magic always tended to lash out when he was stressed.

Tom let out a long breath, and Harry watched him rearrange his expression into a more appropriate one. Appeasing. Harry scowled. Tom hadn’t been this fake with him since the first few months they were together.

“Is it really too much to think we can reconcile? It’s been 5 years, Harry, we’ve both changed.”

“Enough?”

“More, if need be,” Tom easily replied.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “Prove it,” he demanded.

Tom’s eyes narrowed, assessing. Then deliberately, he raised his hand and with a wave dismantled the privacy wards on their table.

Harry’s jaw dropped, his spine straightening up with a snap. He looked around them, his face suddenly hot, sweat beading on his forehead. No one had noticed yet, no one had turned to them and realized that it was Tom Riddle, loved and adored, whispered to be the favored candidate for the next Minister for Magic. No one had seen yet that he was sitting across a man 13 years his junior, some nameless Auror. The worry and the fear were instinctual even years after their past furtive meetings.

Tom raised an expectant eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” Harry hissed.

“Sir.”

Harry looked up at the waiter, panicked. His nerves only rose when the waiter did a double-take at seeing Tom’s face, recognizing it this time. Almost immediately, his eyes went to Harry and Harry squirmed. Tom coughed politely, shooting him a charming smile, and the waiter quickly remembered himself, placing their plates in front of them with an elegant flourish. He quickly hurried away, and Harry watched him in dismay, knowing for sure the gossip would begin to spread now.

Tom leaned in and said, “It was a mistake to let you go. You know I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, abruptly flustered. It wasn’t an apology. Tom didn’t do apologies. But it was as close as it could be to one. They were silent, Harry taking the time to eat and think about their past. The things they’d said, the things they’d done. The things that _weren’t_ said and done.

“You called me idealistic,” he said. “Right before we broke up.”

“You are.”

“As if it was an insult,” Harry continued, lips thin. “You made it seem as if I couldn’t possibly understand the choices you made, your…your pragmatism. As if my concerns and my feelings weren’t worth shit compared to your Plans.”

“I had good plans though, didn’t I?” Tom smirked, a light tease, and Harry flushed.

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point.”

Tom tilted his head, accepting. He took a slow sip of his wine, savoring it, and Harry looked away, nervous tension running through him.

“I can adjust my plans,” Tom finally said, placing his glass back down. “Plans can change. But you, I’d rather be with.”

Harry’s breath caught at that, his hands frozen and his grip tight on his utensils. Slowly, he brought them down. Tom reached out to touch the top of his hand. All Harry could do was stare, his eyes wide. Tom’s hands were larger than his, fingernails clean and trimmed, so different from Harry’s stubby, bitten-down nails. It emphasized the difference between them. Unbidden, Harry let go of his fork and turned his hand, his heart racing as Tom warmly squeezed his hand.

He could see people glancing at them, and it filled him with mixed feelings. Uncomfortable at being seen and watched, but at the same time reveling in people seeing the two of them together. No matter the results of tonight, people would know either way. He wanted to kiss Tom, wanted everyone to see even if he was embarrassed about it.

“Let’s start over,” Tom said, smooth. “Pretend this is our first date. Pretend we’ve never met before.”

“We have too much history for that,” Harry said, and Tom closed his eyes.

“Harry,” he said simply, and Harry quieted at his commanding tone.

“Would it really be that easy?” He asked softly. Tom assessed him, his eyes intense. They were different from what Harry remembered, brighter somehow. Almost red underneath certain angles of the light.

“It could be.”

 

*

 

Tom pressed him to the wall, his larger form covering Harry’s seamlessly. They shared a kiss, soft and sweet, so unlike any other kiss Harry had ever had from Tom. He felt dizzy, his whole body hot where it was melded against Tom’s front.

The heated looks and touches, the way they had so easily fallen back into the easy back-and-forth of the good days, had built and built until Harry knew there was only one way the date would finish.

He tilted his head and moaned softly, and it was as if that was all Tom was waiting for. The kiss turned heated, Tom’s mouth demanding against his, teeth and tongue nipping and taking. He was always a greedy kisser—he never had any qualms of taking what he wanted from Harry, and Harry let himself fall back into it, kissing back until his mouth was red and plump, bruised from the attention.

He grasped Tom’s fitted robes in his hands, gasping as Tom sucked a possessive mark onto his jaw, high enough that it would be visible no matter what Harry wore the next day.

“You know,” Harry breathed, laughing lightly in between kisses, “I don’t really put out on the first date. Since we just met, and all.”

Tom paused, and Harry made a soft noise as he pulled away.

“Of course,” Tom said, voice smooth. He smirked at Harry, playful. “How awfully improper of me, I apologize.”

“I was joking,” Harry said, his eyes wide, and he almost whined when Tom took a step back. “No—wait, Tom, you bastard.”

Tom laughed. “I’ll owl you for our second date. Goodbye, Harry.”

Harry pulled him in for one last kiss, his heart bursting in his chest with long-buried affection and joy, and he smiled. “It was lovely to meet you.”

 

*

 

"Do you have a Valentine's surprise for me?" Astoria teased. She flipped her hair over her shoulders, the length of it spilling gracefully, like a waterfall. Draco smiled and brushed it aside. He leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to her shoulder, and another, and another, until he was kissing her neck and she was giggling, snorting inelegantly. No one else got to see her like this, no one else but him.

"Of course," he murmured into her ear, his hands slipping around her waist. Just as he was about to turn her to kiss her properly, their Floo rang from their receiving room.

They paused and blinked at each other. It was almost midnight, far too late and past the polite time for anyone to be calling, much less visiting.

"Is that my surprise?" Astoria smiled. Draco wavered. Very few people had access to his Floo past a certain time, and those that did wouldn't bother him willy-nilly.

"Let me check," he said. "Wait here."

He left his wife behind on their bed and made his way to the other room. Their apartment wasn't as opulent as Malfoy Manor, but it was elegant, tastefully decorated and large enough to suit both their high standards. With a wave of his hand, his Floo opened.

Harry stepped out, stumbling slightly. He looked dazed, a little lost, and for a moment Draco worried. Until Harry looked up, his pupils blown wide, his lips red and plump, his collar askew, and Draco's jaw dropped.

"Merlin," he said, inordinately pleased. He smiled smugly. "Had a good night, did you?"

"I don't know whether to punch you or thank you," Harry said. His face reddened and unconsciously, he reached up to touch his mouth, then his jaw where a love bruise was starting to form.

"Thank me," Draco immediately answered, tilting his head with a smirk.

"Out of all the people you could have set me up with," Harry murmured, shaking his head in wonderment. "You're a bit of an arse, but thank you. How did you even know?”

"Oh," Astoria said from the doorway before Draco could respond, her voice pitching low. Draco and Harry looked up, and Draco's eyebrows rose as a pleased smile curled on her lips, languid and promising. Astoria leaned against the arch of the doorway, her hands smoothing over the tie over her silk robe in a slow, deliberate motion. Her voice came out seductive when she spoke. "You should have mentioned _Harry_ was my Valentine's gift."

She moved to unwrap her robe and Draco jolted out of motion from where he was frozen right beside the fireplace. He bolted towards her and covered her hands with his, face red.

"No!" he hissed. "He's not here for a threesome, love."

"Oh," Astoria said once more. She blinked at him, and then pouted, dangerously close to a frown. "How cruel, husband."

Harry coughed, still standing awkwardly beside the fireplace. He rubbed the back of his head and smiled sheepishly at Astoria, not quite able to meet her eyes. "Sorry to disappoint."

He looked at Draco then and did an abrupt double take, his eyes flashing to the clock, and then to their state of just barely decent in their silk dressing gowns.

"I—ah, shit, I'm interrupting," he said in embarrassment. It was clear enough to him what Draco and Astoria were in the middle of, and not just because it was the night of February 14.  "Sorry, I wasn't quite thinking, I Floo'd here as soon as I got home. I'll just, er, I’ll just go."

"Tell me about it tomorrow," Draco said kindly. Oh, how good it felt to do a good deed. He understood now.

"Yes, of course," Harry said immediately. He turned back to the fireplace and picked up the Floo powder Draco kept on the mantle. He threw it into the flames and it turned green. Just before he stepped in, however, he turned back to Draco and smiled. "Never thought I'd say this after what happened 5 years ago, but I actually had a lovely time tonight, so thank you."

He called out an unfamiliar address and disappeared into a rush of green flames.

“How sweet,” Astoria said, patting his shoulder. “Who did you set him up with?”

“Oh, just Rabastan Lestrange,” Draco replied, still smug. “I always did think they’d make a lovely couple.”

 

*

 

“Now, Lestrange,” Tom said, his voice ice cold. He tilted his head, eyes narrowed, and prodded Rabastan with his foot. “What did we say about even _thinking_ of touching what isn't ours?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Rabastan rasped from his position on the floor, forehead pressed to his knees. “I didn’t know.”

“You’re forgiven,” Tom said kindly. He leaned in and smiled, just a hint of cruelty in it. “Now tell me, what did Mr. Malfoy instruct you to wear?”

**Author's Note:**

> huuuge thanks to stuffle for the beta, the feedback and for being a great soundboard <3
> 
> i'm on [tumblr !](exarite.tumblr.com)


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